Category Archives: Short Stories Spring 2015
Winner of the Joanne Harrison Hopkins Literary Achievement Award 2015
Mavis slammed her head against the steering wheel of her black VW bug. “I so don’t want to go in there,” she groaned. When she pulled into the long gravel drive of her family’s mansion she immediately wanted to turn around. Ashby Hall was a white, three-story dwelling with ionic pillars that only reached the second story. There were two porches, one on the first and another on the second story, which wrapped around the entirety of the building. The black shutters had been freshly painted and shone in the sunlight. The antebellum monstrosity had sat there for hundreds of years with her family as permanent residents. Literally. They had had a private mausoleum built in the back left corner of the sweeping grounds and gardens behind the house. It might have looked magnificent, but Mavis would have given anything to be anywhere else. She knew what her aunt had left for her in the parlor. Read the rest of this entry
Wound healing is a dynamic process. For the healing process to begin, there first has to be a wound. Purposeful and accidental wounds must be treated differently. A purposeful wound, like a surgical incision or the random girl in the library calling me a bitch for being upset that she sexted my boyfriend, do not hold as big of a concern as accidental wounds. Those are the wounds caused by a car or a text or a word. They were never meant to cause so much harm, yet these are the killer wounds. Read the rest of this entry
We sat in the corner of the sandbox, hidden by the shadow of the tall red brick walls that stood behind us. The Florida sun beat down on our foreheads as we laid our heads on a black garbage bag full of sandbox toys, our backs on the dirty white sand.
“How was your day at work, dear?” I asked, turning my head upon what felt like a plastic sand bucket underneath the sticky garbage bag so that he and I were face to face. Read the rest of this entry
Waking in the midst of an endless whimsical reverie wasn’t at all as refreshing as it may have been, knowing today was the day where sorrow lingered, because a dear friend and angel has moved away. This dear friend of mine’s name is Rosie Magee, and like the famous Dutch and German comedian Kristen Schaal, she easily reminded me of her sweet nectar demeanor and witty, charming ways. She was more than just this bubbly Irish woman full of spirit and vigor, she was the Chaplain of Wilson College who will always capture the hearts and lives of many. Little does she know how distraught I truly am for her departure back near her home country Scotland, Iona, (close by to Northern Ireland [330 miles away]—her homeland) where she left me and many other’s behind. It’s as if she has vanished through crystal thin air, and I only long for her to reappear once more to say goodbye. I certainly won’t forget her blessing of a smile or her amusing, gleeful cachinnation. She simply was a being from out of this world, divine in every sense of the word. Read the rest of this entry
The sky was clear, the moon lighting the only path that twisted through the trees. The crickets were chirping while an owl hooted in the distance. The wind blew, whistling its way through the trees, sharp and cold. I pulled my jacket closer around me, silently cursing my friend who led the way in front of me. Our feet crunched over the dead leaves laying on the ground as we moved further into the woods. I could be in my bedroom right now, wrapped up in a blanket and enjoying a good book. Instead, I was being dragged out here to some party in the middle of the woods. I’m all for parties but I preferred them to be indoors and not in the middle of the creepy woods. Read the rest of this entry
Casey Pierce walks through the cereal aisle in a grocery store. Selecting a box of Raisin Bran, she turns and notices a child sitting in the front seat of a shopping cart. He’s licking a red lollipop that is almost the size of his face, while tugging on his mother’s sleeve to try and get her attention. His mother is busy talking on her phone, completely ignoring her son’s pleas to buy him an overly sugary cereal with a goofy cartoon on the box. Casey starts to move toward the front of the store, but is almost run over by a man. He’s middle-aged, with round spectacles resting on the tip of his nose. Read the rest of this entry
Moonlight gleamed upon the snow engulfed forest. The trees seemed to throb with tension as though fearfully awaiting a fiery explosion that would incinerate them in its path. Dark rumors circulated among this part of the woods, rumors of a shadowy figure, half animal, half monster, with eyes that shone eerily through the darkness.
“Mama! Mama! I saw something!” Read the rest of this entry
For when they shall say, Peace and safety; then sudden destruction cometh upon them, as travail upon a woman with child; and they shall not escape.
1 Thessalonians 5:3
All I see is red.
As I gaze out the window at the alien landscape, my heart races as memories flash in quick succession—my hands, my blouse, and the well-worn knees of my favorite jeans, stained with crimson fingers that grasp for something I have no dispensation to bestow. They beg. No, they pray. Pray to a god that does not exist. That cannot exist. Read the rest of this entry
My head rested against the cool metal of the locker. With a loud sigh, I grumbled under my breath about not wanting to take my damn chemistry exam today. I had been up all night studying, but somehow, I felt less prepared than I had yesterday. Slowly, I took a step back from the locker and opened it, just as my best friend practically skipped over to my side. “Morning, Quinn!” Ava Mathews was obnoxiously perky for 7:30 in the morning. Especially on a day like today. Read the rest of this entry
Right before I was supposed to start second grade, me, my Mommy, and my Daddy had to move to a new house because of Daddy’s work. I was so nervous because I have never been too good at making new friends. At my old school I didn’t have any friends, except for Coco, of course, and I knew she would be my friend wherever I went. Mommy said that I was too old to think that a stuffed gorilla is my best friend, but Coco was and always had been. Daddy bought her for me before I was even born, and from what he said, I had her by my side ever since. He was surprised when I called her a girl, because most little boys would consider a gorilla to be a boy; they might name him something like George, but not me. Coco is a pretty gorilla; she has big, brown eyes that make her look so sad and she has very shiny fur that is always so soft and fluffy. For some reason, she made me feel safe, which is why I took her to school with me every day and why I had to sleep with her every night. Read the rest of this entry